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Poetry from within
   

YOUR T.V. BOX


What will you be doing this Christmas?

Sitting at home with the kids?

Not in some dark smelly alley

Hunting Ďneath grey dustbin lids?



Will you be having a turkey?

Roast taters all done in a tin?

I bet you donít fancy cold bacon

Pulled out of somebodyís bin?



That sixty-inch new plasma telly

With 3D and virtual surround

Looks great and sounds really special

But not to a man on the ground



The box your telly arrived in

Is down in the alleyway too

The polystyrene and cardboard

Keeps somebody warm thanks to you



As you drink your whisky and soda

Choose a mince-pie or a trifle

The man asleep in your T.V. box

Has nightmares that he cannot stifle



Over and over he re-lives the time

His comrades and he were at war

Fighting in conflicts, so long ago,

That heíll see in his dreams evermore



When he wakes up in the morning

The images still somehow remain

Heís tried everything to forget them

But he canít, they just come back again



Both cold and hunger are certain

To someday take him away

But you can be proud that your T.V. box

Has kept him alive one more day


Don Holmes